


We Could Turn the World to Gold (run away with me)

by KL_Morgan



Series: turn the world to gold [1]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015), The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Lena Luthor as Green Lantern, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, every chapter a different fic, relationships and tags and fandoms added as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 21:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16250324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KL_Morgan/pseuds/KL_Morgan
Summary: ficlets from tumblr according to the prompt: send me an AU and I'll write five headcanons for it





	1. a note on the stories

Like the summary says: these are posted in response to prompts I received on tumblr. I soon realized I'm kinda crap at writing headcanons and five-part ficlets were a more appealing approach. I also got a  _lot_ of prompts, and while I doubt I'll be able to fic them all, I'm going to keep trying throughout the winter as it helps keep the seasonal depression at bay. 

I don't often do non-canon AUs -- or shorter stories -- so these fics were an attempt to experiment and push myself in that respect. I kept the same mindset in creating stories based on other people's ideas, which means these can be a lot fluffier or funnier than my usual stuff... or much darker. Trigger warnings will be posted at the top of any stories that warrant them (though currently I doubt any will). Beyond that, please consider yourself warned.

 

 

 

 

 

_hold on to me I_

_never want to let you go_   
_(run away with me, run away with me)_   
_over the weekend_   
_we could turn the world to gold, oh oh_   
_(run away with me, run away with me)_


	2. Supercorp: Lena is Green Lantern

 

 

 

 **1.**  “Oh, no,” Lena says, when the lantern finishes explaining. “ _No._ I am a  _scientist_. I cannot,  _will not_  inextricably link myself to anything involving magic. I don’t care if I was chosen: I choose my path in this life, and I am not putting on that damn ring. And then – you want me to say what?” 

 

*

 “Does it  _have_ to rhyme?”

 

*

It’s a rush. 

It’s like balancing an equation after an all-nighter on nothing but takeout and too-caffeinated soda. It’s like the look on some hoary relic’s face the moment he realizes she actually knows what she’s doing when she walks into the boardroom. It’s like…

No, there are no analogies. Nothing in the world is like this, simply reaching out and seeing her will manifest itself on the world in shining, verdant power. 

She might even say there’s nothing better, but the look on Supergirl’s face when Lena flew out into the eye of the storm to help her drag a 747 out of its grip – nothing will ever top  _that_. 

 

 

 **2**. The first thing she does is tell the whole world. 

“I am the Green Lantern,” she says and the world explodes into light as the flashes go off over, and over, and over. 

 

*

“Are you  _crazy_ ,” Supergirl shouts at her the next time they meet. She needs to shout: the… whatever they’re fighting is attacking them with sonic waves, and whenever the silvery figure darts to another vantage point the resulting boom is almost deafening. “The whole point is that no one knows who you are! That’s why the suit comes with a  _mask_!”

“Yeah, well, then you should have considered one,” Lena murmurs, dodging the air ripple that’s their only warning of another onslaught.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Supergirl bellows from the other side of a high rise. 

Oh. Superhearing. Right. 

“It  _means_ ,” flinging out her power, “that glasses and a ponytail are a great misdirect, but they don’t actually obstruct drawn conclusions!”

The city around them goes silent. 

Warily, they both fly out from their hiding places. The attacker is struggling to get out from  under a glowing green blanket. Lena pinches the edges shut.

“What did you do?”

“Acoustic invisibility cloak,” Lena says. “I’ve seen schematics of the material from Duke, I just had to remember the details of its construction.” 

“Can I punch him through it?”

“Go for it.” 

Supergirl takes a moment to steel herself, but it’s an effective knock-out technique. Their attacker goes still, and Lena takes back Green Lantern’s power. 

“This isn’t the kind of world where secrets last,” Lena tells her, since Supergirl seems ready to let the subject drop – Lena isn’t. “Millions of cameras and phones recording our image, day after day, and someone who already had a public profile as high as mine… Someone was going to figure out my identity sooner or later. I figured if I got out in front of it, I could keep it from being used against me.”

“Is that what you’re going to do now? With me?” 

Lena sucks in a breath. “I don’t deserve that,” she says quietly.

“I know,” Supergirl says, to Lena’s surprise. “But I had to ask.”

“Did you, though?”

“Yes,” and Lena kind of hates herself for how she still finds the stubbornness of Supergirl’s slight pout so attractive. “This impacts more people than just me.” 

Alex. James. Winn. Mentally, Lena runs through the list of suspects: people Kara trusted with her secret before even considering the last Luthor heir. 

But then Kara says, “There’s, well, there’s kind of this club,” and surprises her for a second time in quick succession. 

 

*

“What’s your benefits package?” she asks when they invite her to join the Justice League.

 

 

 **3**. “What do you mean, you don’t have benefits? What about workers comp? Insurance? You fight crime in elaborate home costumes; you’re telling me you don’t have a  _behavioral health plan_?” 

They explain it to her – “them” being the usual suspects of Batman, Superman, that red-suited kid from Central City who inspires all the really  _filthy_  metahuman jokes at cocktail parties, plus the Robin Hood wannabe from Starling City. Technically he came first, which means  _she_  stole  _his_  color scheme, but she gets her superhero getup from an ages-old pan-dimensional… magic thingy. She’s pretty sure she can pull rank. 

Kara lurks on the edges, watching Lena’s face like she knows what’s coming.

“So you have no legal protections in place,” Lena says after they’re done. “Any resulting property damage you settle out of court. And I guess, what, you’re counting on the fact you’re nice people to keep any bystanders from suing for resulting harm or battery?”

“We’re superheroes,” the hooded one says, sounding exasperated.

“You’re idiots,” Lenasnarls, and flies off.

Then she turns around and flies back.

“The others I can understand. But this is exactly why OSHA took your ass to court in ‘09, Bruce; you know better.” 

 

 

 **4**. Lena forms her own league.

“Just tell me it’s not for supervillains,” Supergirl says, rubbing at her temples.

“Oh, right – I’m just going to go out and form a  _league of evil_  under my own name. That’s partly why secret identities are primed to backfire, you know.” 

Supergirl scowls. “So this is about –”

“It’s not.” Lena motions, inviting her to sit down – she’s had tea and coffee brought onto her balcony in preparation for this visit. “Maybe it’d be more fun if I was gearing up for some kind of resentment-fueled showdown, but this really does have more to do with dental.”

“Dental?” reaching for a cream cheese danish. 

“Mmhmm. Not every alien or metahuman with gifts that could benefit National City works for an organisation that knows what they are, or would accept it if they did. And,” as Supergirl opens her mouth, “L-Corp offers a very competitive benefits package for the employees of its subsidiaries. As you know.” 

Supergirl munches thoughtfully. “I thought you’d be angrier.”

“… so did I.” Events after her press conference had been… eye-opening. She’d thought she’d seen how ruthless, how inventive, the tabloids could be: turns out she had no idea.

Not to mention, of course, the death threats, the  _new_  stalkers, and just the overwhelming energy of the crowds whenever she walks the streets. Even when it’s friendly, it can border on fanaticism.

She wouldn’t wish any of it on Kara, living  _as_  Kara, for a second.   

“You have a right to be,” the alien said, looking at her with big doe eyes. Earnestness and good will might as well be wafting out her pores and into the air. It might actually be. Lena wonders if they’ve reached a place where she can ask to run tests. “I’d understand if you were.”

Of course she would. She runs around saving the world in her free time, no expectations in turn, just because she  _can_. Of course she’d bend her head and take whatever abuse Lena chose to heap on her for the crime of trying to keep her friends and family out of the direct line of fire with a few secrets. 

“Have you seen all this paperwork I have to deal with?” Lena says, waving a sheath of applications to her league – more of a union, really – in Kara’s direction. “I don’t have time to be angry.”

Supergirl’s hesitant, slow-growing smile actually makes that true. 

 

 

 **5.**  The first time she tries to kiss Kara, the Super flinches out of reach.

Lena jerks back. It’s amazing how far momentum – horrified, humiliated momentum – can carry you when hovering in the air. She has to stop herself, and even fly in a little closer, even as it makes her skin itch. But she doesn’t want to be seen running away. 

“Sorry,” she says, once she’s in… well, Kara could have heard her on the other side of the world, maybe. But this way their conversation won’t travel any further than the two of them. Or, she’s pretty sure – they’re a good fifty feet up above the battlefield, where the smoking remnants of Zod’s army is being picked over by both the League and the Union. (The Union of Mercy. Lena trademarked it.) But she’s not sure who else from her camp has augmented hearing. “I – I read the moment wrong. What you said, about last chances… no, I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

“No, it’s not.” Kara says, muffled from both of her hands covering her face. “You didn’t – it’s just that you’re…”

Lena waits for it:  _Luthor/untrustworthy/female/human/brunette_.

“… um, green.”

Lena blinks. “You’re rejecting me because I’m –”

Supergirl jerks her head up and out of her hands. “I’m not rejecting you,” she mumbles, “you just caught me by surprise, and you’re green! And glowing! It’s the exact same hue as –” She blushes at the look on Lena’s face. “It was a knee-jerk reaction!” 

Lena considers letting her feelings be hurt, but the expression Kara wears is just so crestfallen. “So, I startled you.”

“ _Yes_.” Supergirl folds her arms, fidgeting. 

“Okay.” They hover together in the air, silently. “If I try again, do you want a warning? Or, we can land – I’ll still have the ring on, but the rest of me –”

“No,” Supergirl says, right up against her mouth and oh, superspeed. Right. 

Kara kisses her – softly, and then with growing confidence. (Possibly because she’s learning Lena. Possibly because of the reassurance that Green Lantern’s power only resembles kryptonite in the superficial.) She wraps her arms around Lena, holds her tighter and tighter, until Lena isn’t sure whose power is keeping her aloft. 

A few whoops and some scattered applause breaks out below – Union people, since the League did all the heavy lifting and are mostly too exhausted to care. Lena yells down to remind them all they’re on the clock. Kara smiles into her hair. 

 

 

 


	3. Clexa: Lexa is Immortal AU

 

 

 **1.**  She doesn’t look anything like Clarke expected.

No one could believe it when the story broke. No one actually thinks, “oh, maybe there’s a cadre of immortal beings roaming the Earth,” not even the wilder conspiracy theorists. When they revealed themselves and passed all the tests showing they couldn’t be killed, that their DNA was human, the response was surprisingly… anticlimactic. People by and large seemed to be stubbornly unconvinced or happy to hang back and wait for the immortals’ next move.

Except they didn’t appear to have one. They weren’t hiding anymore, but they didn’t do the talk show rounds. They didn’t run for office. They volunteered whatever medical samples were asked of them, but beyond that they seemed content to live in their homes – always in somewhat isolated areas – and stop pretending.

It took Clarke’s editor over a solid year of networking and favor-calling to get this one to agree to an interview. It took another four hours for her to drive up the coast and into the middle of the woods to this, and there really was no other word for it, jaw-dropping mansion. And it only took the immortal opening the door for Clarke to realize she’s completely out of her depth.

She’s beautiful. Not like someone off a magazine cover, or even the kind of person you’d picture playing a worldly immortal in a movie – when you’re not imagining something Gandalf-ian, anyway. But real beauty, touchable: fine-boned face, expressive mouth, a look in her eyes that speaks of intelligence and attention. Clarke can’t see anything in her, though, that would set her apart from the bulk of humanity – seriously apart. Even her age is indeterminable: soft curls and clear skin mean younger than middle-aged, but otherwise she could be anywhere from sixteen to twenty-six.

Clarke is staring, she realizes. When the other girl holds out her hand, she startles.

This prompts a quirk of the lips from the immortal – like she anticipated it. “I’m Lexa.”

“Oh, um. Clarke.”

Without breaking eye contact she reaches out to take Clarke’s hand. As warm fingers wrap around Clarke’s, she sees a hint of something finally enter the other woman’s expression: a longing that seems to echo down the corridors of time.

 _Ah_ , thinks Clarke.  _Now I see it._

 

 

 **2.** “So: why now?”

She was ushered into a actual goddamn library, like something out a Disney film – shelves and shelves of books reaching up stories high and winding metal staircases to reach them. Maybe she’s seeing the benefits of Roth IRAs when you live forever.

The sands run out on the four-minute hourglass timer – and no, the irony does not escape Clarke – placed on the tea tray. It’s a beautiful set: translucently thin china decorated with sprays of forget-me-nots. The immortal pours out two cups as she says: “Why not?”

“No, I mean… you guys have chosen to reveal yourselves for the first time. So there has to be a reason for that, right?”

“Who says it’s the first time?”

Clarke puts her tea down in exasperation. “Do you answer every question with a question?”

Lexa pauses with her cup halfway to her mouth. “No.” Takes a sip. “It’s not the first time.”

“That’s impossible. No one knew you existed until just recently!”

“No one in any civilization still existing.”

Clarke narrows her eyes. “There would have been documentation. Records. Unless you people…”

Lexa laughs, low and quiet. It’s a rough but not unpleasant sound. “We didn’t have to. When empires crumble you’d be amazed at how much is lost, or how often what survives is dismissed as myth and the superstition of savages. We can predict pretty well at this point when things are within several hundred years – or less – of total collapse. We take the opportunity to relax and come out of hiding when we can.”  

She knows she’s gaping. She knows she has to  _stop_ , she just…  _Total collapse?_ “How many times have you been through this, to know the signs?”

Lexa sips her tea, and looks away.

 

 

 **3.** “So. What do you do when the world falls to pieces?”

Lexa offers her more tea, but Clarke demurs. “It depends. There’s no overarching immortal agenda.”

Clarke bites back a grin. It’s a bit shaky, but it’s there. “You sure? Seems like you guys could rule the world if you decided on it.”

“Ruling the world is a lot of work,” Lexa says, candid, as she settles back into her chair. “Most of us prefer to spend eternity on more pleasant pastimes.”

“Not you, though.” Clarke is just guessing. She shouldn’t – she’s supposed to let the interviewee come to their own conclusions, but… something about this girl makes her want to push. Makes her feel like she can anticipate every answer and conversational feint. She shouldn’t give into the impulse. Not only is it unprofessional, but this borderline flirting is –

“No, not me,” Lexa interrupts her thoughts. If she resents the intimacy of Clarke’s assumptions, she doesn’t show it – she smiles over the edge of her cup. “I’ve been the leader of more than a few tribal uprisings.”

“How does that work?” Clarke asks, fascinated.  

“Better back when you could tell people you were the child or embodiment of a deity, and they’d take your word for it.” Lexa sounds wistful. “Other times I had to make do with a cover story of being an insanely good fighter, and also incredibly lucky at surviving my enemies’ attempts on my life.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m guessing not being able to die helps with that. But what about…” Clarke gestures at Lexa’s whole body. “Is there a point where you start dyeing your hair grey and walking with a cane?”

Lexa laughs behind her hand. “Again, some circumstances were easier than others. For the rest…” She shrugs. “I have a friend who is often with me on these… enterprises. He stopped aging at a much later point in his life, and we usually manage to work out some play on the resentful, hidebound father figure who is finally pushed to the breaking point. Martyrs are often just as effective in promoting a cause as youthful, charismatic rulers.”

It takes a few moments for Clarke to put it together. “He  _kills_  you?”

“Assassinates, technically. Nine times so far,” she anticipates Clarke’s next question. “He then stages his own death, and we start the whole thing up again somewhere else. We’ve got it down to a routine.”   

“Why go through that so often? What could even be worth it?”

Lexa is silent for a long moment, the edge of the teacup pressed to her lips. “I don’t feel apart from humanity. I know some of us do, but I…” She sits up and places the cup and saucer down. “People believe the years make you cynical, or hopeless. But the longer I live – the more I see of humanity’s brightness and capability, its ability to pull itself back from the brink time and time again – the more I want to do as much as I can to usher it down the right paths.”

“It seems a lot to give up, though. Like it would require almost unending sacrifice on your part.”

Lexa sighs. That longing – the hint of it that Clarke saw when they first shook hands – is even stronger in her voice when she says: “You have no idea.”

 

 

 **4.** “What’s something you think people would be surprised to know about immortality?”

They’ve reached the portion Clarke likes to call the “lightning round” – not because of its speed. She’s asked all the standard, expected questions, and this is where she likes to get creative. After a subject has been worn down for an hour or so she likes to hit them with something more challenging, more open-ended. And often this is the part of the interview where they surprise her, coming up with insights or offering secrets she didn’t even think to look for: like a bolt from the blue

Lexa doesn’t let her down.

“It’s not the only way to live forever,” the brunette says with a slight, teasing smile.

“What do you mean, like… infamy? Historical records?”

Lexa reaches for her teacup. “I mean if you stick around long enough on this Earth you start to run into the same people, over and over again.”

“Not other immortals.” Lexa quirks an eyebrow at her:  _you can do better than that. “… reincarnation?”_  Clarke blurts out. Her chest feels tight for no reason she can name.

“People don’t seem very comfortable with the idea anymore. But it features in several major religions for a reason.”

Clarke frowns. “You’re sure it’s not just… you know, the same combination of genetics thrown out every couple decades, leading to a lot of familiar faces?”

“It’s not that they look the same, although they often look similar. The real giveaway is… well, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable again, but I know when I’m faced with the same soul. It’s not just me – other immortals have stories. But even without those, I’m sure. At least about one of them.”

Clarke takes in her downcast eyes, the shadow of her lashes on her check. “How?”

“Because she’s the love of my life.”

“Oh.” Clarke feels… weirdly dizzy at the idea. “How many times..?”

“About once every three or four generations. It depends. Sometimes she appears without my searching. Other times… I spent several centuries in Tang dynasty China without seeing her once.”  

“Does she know you’re immortal?”

“You mean, do I always tell her? No.”

Clarke swallows. It’s an unexpected effort to keep her tone even – she’s not sure why, but she feels a niggling sense of outrage on behalf of this unknown paramour. “You don’t think she deserves to know?”

Lexa’s smile this time is humorless. “What is or is not deserved runs threadbare after the first, oh, two dozen times you’re torn out of each other’s arms.” Her face falls into much less guarded lines. “Sometimes it’s better if she doesn’t know.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Nothing is guaranteed. There are times she’s fallen in love with someone else before we met. There are times _I_  did. Even knowing she might be out there, waiting – it doesn’t mean everyone else ceases to exist. The stars are still beautiful, even if the moon rules the sky.” Lexa gives herself a little shake. “And as I already told you, I’m not the type to stick to the shadows. I don’t always want to put her in danger by knowing my secrets.”

A sudden thought struck Clarke. “You said sometimes your associate had to pretend to kill you. Has she ever – not known – then?”

Lexa lets her eyes fall shut. “Yes.”

Clarke sucks in a sharp breath. There’s a pain around her heart like a ghostly wound.

“But I always,” Lexa opens her eyes, “come back to her, when that happens. I made a promise to myself a long time ago. It might take me years, she might not even want me by the time it’s safe for her to know – but I  _always_  make sure that, in those circumstances, she learns the truth.”

Clarke summons up a wan smile. “Well, I guess I have to live with that.” She laughs at herself – she’s always been too empathetic for her own good. “Or she does.”

The look Lexa gives her is somber. She doesn’t smile back.

 

 

 **5.** “Well, thank you. I really appreciate you making the time, and your – candor.” Clarke sticks her hand out. They already did this, but part of her seems to crave the physical contact, to touch this girl and make sure she’s real.

(Part of her wants to grab and never let go. She’s not even sure where the impulse comes from – it’s nebulous, formless, not rooted in any emotion that’s easy to identify. But it’s there.)

She comes back to herself and realizes Lexa is staring down at her hand with a bemused expression. Clarke is ready to apologize – maybe immortals don’t shake hands more than once? – but Lexa shakes her head.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’ve been admiring your wedding ring, you know. I remembered I wanted to say so before you left.”

“Oh.” Clarke turns her hand so that the light catches on the gold band with its delicately etched filigree. She knows her smile has turned dopey, but it’s a reflex. “Yeah.”

“How long?”

“Well, we made it official as soon as the laws changed. But we’ve known each other since we were kids.” She’s about to put her hand down, but this is the exact moment Lexa takes it in hers – and something in the other girl’s face has Clarke elaborating: “My friends like to tease me that I never even gave anyone else a chance, but – I really can’t imagine a life with anyone else. We even work together on the paper. She’s a photographer.”

“It sounds wonderful.” Lexa smiles and says, gently: “I’m sure you’ll have a very happy life together.”

The immortal’s hand is very warm. “I… this might sound weird, but I hope we get the chance to see each other again. Someday.”

She might only be imagining the way Lexa’s grip tightens. “I know we will.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
